“We’ve done everything else we can,” he said.
“Father Jerome, Sister Mary Elizabeth’s pastor, is not so sure,” she said. “As you can imagine,
I
believe there must be an explanation other than a miraculous conception.”
I nodded my understanding of everyone’s position.
“Before coming here about six months ago, Father Jerome and Sister Mary Elizabeth worked in a parish in Pensacola,” Father Thomas said. “Father Jerome took medical retirement and moved here. Sister Mary Elizabeth joined our staff shortly after.”
“She doesn’t want me dying alone,” Father Jerome said. “I mean, without someone I’m close to. At least that’s part of it. I think she genuinely likes it here, as well.”
I looked at Sister Abigail. She knew what I wanted without me saying it.
“Here’s what we know for sure,” she said. “All based on medical examinations. Sister Mary Elizabeth
is
pregnant—about four months. She’s also a virgin. The same doctor who verified she was pregnant said her hymen was intact and that she had never had intercourse. The only place she’s been beside the abbey is the soup kitchen, so couldn’t have had any medical procedures or anything like that. Not that I believe she would. Mary says she’s never had sex, never even done anything sexual with a man, and that she has no idea how she got pregnant.”
“And I believe her,” Father Jerome said. “I’ve known her for many years now, as her pastor and co-worker. She’s the purest, most precious person I’ve ever met. She’s not capable of lying. She’s a true innocent. And there’s a sense of the divine about her, a presence of the spirit. I’ve never said this about anyone I’ve ever know, but I think it’s possible that she is a saint.”
“But you’re not convinced there’s a miraculous explanation for her pregnancy?”
He shrugged. “I’m open to any explanation—or none. I just don’t want to see her become an object of scorn or devotion or media frenzy.”
I nodded.
“If we didn’t have medical evidence, we wouldn’t be sitting here,” Father Thomas said. “But we do. And we can’t ignore it. I’m not saying this is a miracle, a sign from God at a time when humanity needs it most, but it might be, and we have a duty to report it to our superiors.”
There are people in this world who seem not to belong to it. Sister Mary Elizabeth was one of them. Her simple beauty was radiant, with a palpable presence of otherness. Surprisingly, she wasn’t wearing a habit, but a plain blue dress that matched her eyes. Her long, thick blond hair was in a ponytail, and her pale, porcelain-like complexion was without makeup or blemish.
Though Sister Abigail already had, I explained to her who I was and why I was here.
“So you’re sort of like Father Brown?” she asked. “A spiritual Sherlock Holmes.”
I smiled.
I had expected her to speak in one of those high, airy voices that so many pseudo-spiritual people and eccentrics use, but, like her words themselves, her voice was genuine and came from a woman whose soulfulness was obviously rooted in an earthy humility.
I liked her immediately.
“Unfortunately, not nearly as clever or successful as either of them,” I said, “but yes a bit of a detective.”
“Sister says you’re very good.”
“To keep from calling an esteemed nun a liar, I’ll say she was being generous.”
“Well, I hope you can find out what’s going on with me,” she said.
“You have no idea?”
“None,” she said.
“Do you believe it’s a miracle?”
She shrugged. “I find that very hard to believe,” she said, “but I know there’s no way I could be pregnant.”
A touch of red appeared on her white cheeks as if being brushed on with fine bristles by a delicate hand.
“No
possible
way?” I asked. “Even if highly improbable?”
The red on her cheeks darkened and was joined by crimson splotches on her neck.
“I’ve never been with a man. I’ve never even shared a bathroom with one, so as improbable as an accident would be, I’ve never even been in a situation that would make it remotely possible.”
We were silent for a moment.
The back doors opened loudly and we turned to see who it was.
“I just wanted to make sure you were all right, Sister Mary,” Tommy said.
“I’m fine, Tommy, thank you,” she said.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Some tea or a snack?”
“I’m okay right now, but thank you very much,” she said.
He studied me without expression for a moment, then stepped back out and closed the door.
“He’s so sweet to me,” she said.
I nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“So do you believe me?” she asked.
“That Tommy Boy is sweet?”
“No,” she said with a smile. “About all the other.”
“I have no reason not to.”
“But you’re skeptical?”
“About everything,” I said. “Don’t take it personally.”
“I don’t,” she said.
I thought about everything she’d said for a few moments.
“You work with a lot of law enforcement types, don’t you?” she asked.
I shrugged. “A few.”
“Do you know anyone who could give me a lie-detector test?”
I nodded.
“Would you be willing to set one up for me?” she asked. “It would mean a lot to me if everyone involved could know for certain that I was telling the truth.”
When I stepped out of the chapel, the others were waiting for me. The lengthening days of spring meant that there was still light, and they were gathered, pacing like expectant parents, beneath an enormous oak tree.
Father Jerome was seated on a bench, the others standing around him. He looked to be in pain, but he rose the moment he saw me, and walked over. The others following, Father Thomas tapping out a pipe on the bottom of his shoe.
“
Well
?” Father Jerome asked.
“You were right,” I said. “She is a very special person.”
“I told you, didn’t I?” he said. “She’s an angel, a holy handmaiden of the Lord.”
“Any ideas on what’s going on?” Sister Abigail asked.
“Need some more information first,” I said.
I looked at Anna. “You okay?”
“I’m great,” she said. “I’ve really enjoyed getting to know Sister Abigail.”
“This is going to take a while,” I said. “Do you want me to take you home?”
She shook her head. “I’m good, and if I need to go, I’ll get a ride. Don’t worry about me. Just do what you need to.”
“I’ll tell you what we
need
to do—and I mean all of us,” Father Jerome said. “We need to protect that godly young woman in there.” He nodded toward the chapel. “Regardless of how she got pregnant—a miracle, an accident, an indiscretion, or a violation— the last thing she needs is a media frenzy or some clueless cardinal deciding her fate. Let her stay here, have her baby in privacy, with dignity.”
“We have an obligation to the church,” Father Thomas said. “This could be the sign so many of us have been waiting for.”
“And if it is,” Jerome said, “you trust a bunch of old gay men and pedophiles to know what to do with it, with her? No. As her pastor, I won’t allow it. I’m not going to let you make a spectacle out of her because you think we need a sign.”
“It’s not up to you,” Father Thomas said. “We—”
“She’s asked for a lie-detector test,” I said.
They all whipped their heads around toward me.
“
What
?” Father Jerome asked. “
Why
?”
“Just to further corroborate that she’s telling us the truth.”
“But we know she is,” he said. “The doctor has already confirmed that.”
“She requested it,” I said. “And I don’t think it’s a bad idea. I’m going to set it up. I think I can get a buddy of mine to do it tonight.”
“So what do you
really
think?” Anna asked.
“Pretty much what I told them,” I said. “There really
is
something remarkable about her—an effortless grace. She’s quite extraordinary.”
While waiting for Keith Coleman, a friend of mine from FDLE, to arrive to administer the lie-detector test, Anna and I had decided to drive back into Bridgeport and talk to the doctor who had examined Sister Mary Elizabeth.
“You thinking her pregnancy might be miraculous?”
I shrugged. “I’m not there yet,” I said. “But I’m even more open now to all possibilities after having talked to her.”
“Do you believe in saints?” she asked. “I mean people who have a closer connection with God?”
I nodded. “I think they’re very rare. Lot of posers and pretenders, but some genuinely touched people, too—like Sister Mary Elizabeth.”
“You know that already?”
I nodded.
We found Dr. Dee Norton throwing a Frisbee to her Australian Shepherd on the beach, backlit by the evening sun. She had agreed to talk with us as a personal favor for Sister Abigail.
Short, stocky, and slightly masculine, Dr. Norton had coarse, curly salt and pepper hair worn close to her head, glasses, and a plain, smooth face without a hint of makeup on it.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, following the introductions.
“I’m trying to help Sister Abigail figure out how Sister Mary Elizabeth got pregnant.”
“So she says.”
“You’re the doctor who determined she was both pregnant and still a virgin?” I asked.
She nodded. “Let me just say for the record that the only reason I’m talking to you about this is that Sister Mary asked me to. Ordinarily, I’d never discuss a patient’s private information with anybody but the patient.”
“I understand,” I said.
The empty beach around us was peaceful, the deepening green waters of the Gulf calm and serene with a glass-like quality. The warm glow of the setting sun seemed to permeate everything with beauty and tranquility, and a hush rested over sea and sand, muting all sounds as if in reverence.
“I did a very thorough exam,” she said, “and I drew two conclusions to a medical certainty. Sister Mary is pregnant, and she is a virgin.”
“When you say virgin … ,” I said.
“She still has an intact hymen,” she said.
“Is it possible to have intercourse without breaking the hymen?”
“The hymen is simply a ring of tissue near the vaginal opening,” she said. “It’s not a barrier.”
“So it’s possible?”
“Theoretically,” she said. “But it’s very rare. Some hymens are ruptured without intercourse at all.”
Down by the water, Norton’s Australian Shepherd was barking at the incoming tide, chasing it as it went out and backing up to avoid getting wet as it came in, all the while jumping and yelping playfully like a puppy, though he seemed too big to be one.
“It’s highly improbable,” Norton continued. “Any stretching of the hymen will usually tear it. Sometimes they heal in such a way that it is very difficult to determine if it has been broken or not, but that’s not the case here.”
I nodded, and thought about it.
“I’ve heard of a procedure that recreates the hymenal ring,” Anna said. “It was very popular for a while. Could she have had that done?”
“That’s the trouble with jumping from the general to the specific, isn’t it?”
She paused to make a point and we waited.
“You asked if it were possible for a woman to have intercourse and still have a hymen,” she said. “Yes, it’s possible. And you asked if she could have had surgery to recreate the hymen. She could have, in theory, but reality is a different matter entirely.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“After my examination, we’re no longer in need of theory,” she said. “We have fact. And that fact is, Sister Mary isn’t just a virgin because she has an intact hymen—as we’ve said, you can have one of those and still have had sex—improbable, but not impossible. But Sister Mary isn’t just a virgin because she has an intact hymen. She’s a virgin because she’s never had intercourse.”
When Anna and I arrived back at St. Ann’s, Keith was administering the polygraph to Sister Mary Elizabeth. They were inside one of the classrooms in the education center. Sister Abigail, Father Thomas, and Father Jerome were in the hallway outside the door seated in school desks—slid out here, no doubt, for that purpose because they were the only ones in the hall.
“I hope you don’t mind, but he said he didn’t have much time, so we gave him the background information, a list of questions, and let him get started,” Sister Abigail said.
I shook my head. “That’s fine.”
“Did you have specific questions you wanted him to ask?”